


Variable Constant

by lamentomori



Series: Everything Tends Towards Entropy [3]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13471311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: There are two constants in Hiromu's life: Time and Naito. Both seem to be getting away from him.





	Variable Constant

A night of unexpected decisions is nothing new. A night of unexpected events is even less new. A whole weekend of not wanting to be around his _family_ is slightly new, but he can’t face them for a change. There’s tension. There’s usually tension, but there isn’t usually tension like this. The normal tension is like the surface tension of water. Visible, but easily broken. This is like the surface of ice, thick, and cold. Just like last night, he can’t face it. So, just as last night, Hiromu fled. He’d fled early, and hovered in areas of backstage he shouldn’t be. Suzuki-Gun territory in case Marty had gone to visit his tall, skinny, scowling friend. CHAOS land, where he’d ducked behind a wall and listened to Osp-nya purr at his senpai. He’s going to have to earn Belt-San back soon. As lame as it is, and it is lame, he needs something to validate him the way Will has Okada, and nothing does the job quite like having a strap of leather and gold cradled close to his chest. He’d not dared to get too close to Bullet Club. He’d heard a loud bang from their area, and he’s sure that who he’s looking for will have cleared out long ago. Close to Bullet Club is the exact last place Birdie would be. He’ll be perched somewhere else, maybe even already showering. Someone unexpected _was_ hanging around Bullet Club’s locker room. Ibushi Kota is either very brave, very stupid, or very un-observant to be there. If he’s looking for Omega, he’s already left. He’d seen him storm into the locker room, then storm out looking more like an anime villain than usual, after the loud bang. He’s not the only one who spots Ibushi. The American he wrestled last night spots him too. He approaches Ibushi like he was an easily started cat, and paws at him like that too. Ibushi scowls, and hisses, then he sweeps away looking like the superhero to Omega’s supervillain. That whole thing is going to explode spectacularly. It’s a shame that Marty wants to be even somewhat embroiled in it. As handsome as Omega is, he’s not worth the hassle he brings. It’s a surprise the man is allowed on aeroplanes with the amount of baggage he has.

He’d found Marty eventually, or more accurately Marty found him. Birdie was stressed, but Hiromu couldn’t blame him. They’re both stressed, and the brief moment of not stressed they’d had last night isn’t getting a chance to be repeated as Naito found him too.

He wasn’t hiding from Naito. He’d _never_ hide from Naito, but he didn’t want to be found by Naito either. He’d left Daryl, tucked in Naito’s gear bag carefully, not as an invitation, but as a stand-in. What he’d wanted was to take Birdie back to his place and fuck him again, maybe he’d have let Birdie fuck him, only if he was up for it though. Marty seems to be rather self-centred and vain, so maybe he’s a terrible top, even if he is a fabulous bottom. It’s a quandary Hiromu will have to seek the answer to at a later date, because he’s currently trailing along behind a visibly tense Naito. It’s not often he _looks_ tense, not often he looks much of anything really. He remembers long ago when Naito looked many things, often all at once, but that was then, and now he’s a tense, bristling bundle of apathy and irritation. Naito’s silent as he leads the way, not once looking back, trusting Hiromu to be following along behind him like a good boy. He is, but the assumption stings. He shifts his grip on his bag, and considers tucking Daryl back into Naito’s bag, and slinking off to re-find Birdie. Only bad things are going to come from this _dinner_ he’s attending. Omega _has_ to see how everything is crumbling down around his ears, and he _has_ to know that keeping Marty at his side would take no work at all. A night with Marty in your bed certainly isn’t work. His feet stop without his input. He stares at Naito’s back, wondering how far he’ll get without noticing. Five steps. He stops, and turns to stare at Hiromu. Hiromu stares back at him.

“What?” Naito’s not blinked once, and Hiromu’s eyes feel dry. His throat feels dry too. His hand tightens on Daryl, and he forces a smile to his lips.

“Just putting him in the bag.” He opens his bag, and tries to get Daryl inside it without squashing him too much. It’s a relief to look at Daryl instead of Naito. The cat is more of a human than Naito is right now. Naito casts a shadow on him when he gets close.

“C’mon.” He takes a hold of Hiromu’s wrist, and leads the way out of the building. “Do you have your car?” It doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t. Hiromu knows that for sure. It’s never mattered before and it’s not going to matter tonight. “Hiro?” Naito shakes his wrist, clearly expecting some kind of acknowledgement.

“Hmm?” A mild smile, his mildest of smiles, forces itself to his lips, and Hiromu tries to look like he’s interested in Naito’s car question. He isn’t. He knows where they’re going. He knows what they’re going to do. He knows that he’ll leave Naito’s apartment in a few hours and take the metro for a few stops. He’ll get out somewhere. He’ll wander about. He’ll consider renting a pod in one of the grim capsule hotels filled with the drunk salary men. He’ll wonder if he’d suit a tie and a proper job. He’ll walk, and walk and walk, and eventually he’ll either be home, or so horribly lost he has to take a cab. He likes being lost the most. Lost feels comfortably familiar. Naito squeezes his wrist so hard he’s sure it’s going to break.

“C’mon.” He starts pulling Hiromu along behind him. His grasp on Hiromu’s wrist doesn’t let up.

As soon as they’re in Naito’s place, he grabs at Hiromu, kissing him hard and fast, pushing him against the nearest wall. He’s shoving at Hiromu’s clothes, searching for bare skin with tenacity. The moment he’s exposed Hiromu’s shoulders, Naito sniffs his neck. It’s an unexpected gesture, one that has Hiromu freezing, wondering what’s going to happen next.

“Shower.” Naito hisses, and grabs Hiromu by the wrist again. It’s going to bruise. Tomorrow there’s going to be a solid ring of blueish, greenish welts from Naito’s fingers, and Hiromu’s not going to know how he feels about them. He’ll avoid thinking about them, but he’ll know they’re there. He’ll know the exact moment they aren’t. He’ll not know if Naito will know or care about the bruises he’s leaving. He never has, and doubts he ever will.

“I just did.” Hiromu squirms, subtly trying to ease the pressure in his wrist. It hurts. Naito stares at him. It feels like he’s trying to will Hiromu to do as he wants without questioning. “You know I just showered.” Naito pulls him close. One arm at his waist, the other tangles in his hair and yanks his head back, baring his throat.

“A shower with Omega’s pet crow.” It’s been a long time since Hiromu’s been the sole focus of Naito like this. All the fire, all the passion of Naito directed solely at him. Seconds can feel like hours in the right circumstances, but time will keep ticking by at the same pace, still it feels like days pass. Naito lets him go, subtly but obviously pushing him away. “Shower.” His voice is gruff, heavy and thick. He clears his throat and gestures towards his bathroom. Hiromu nods rather than push Naito further. His wrist already hurts enough.

In the bathroom he considers telling Marty he was wrong. He’d assumed that Naito wouldn’t care that he’d fucked Marty, but he was very wrong. Naito cares, and seems annoyed by it. Not that it matters. Marty is a port in a storm at least, a sympathetic shoulder at most, and Naito is Naito. Nothing could replace Naito. No matter good it would be for Hiromu to replace him, Naito will always be his senpai. His invaluable, irreplaceable, inscrutable senpai. Although, this shower is pretty easy to understand. Naito wants Hiromu to remember his place is beneath him. It’s a marking exercise. He belongs to Naito, so he showers when Naito tells him to, so he smells of Naito, so any small traces of other people are obliterated by soap and water. It’s stupid. If Birdie told him that Omega pulled this shit on him, Hiromu would challenge for that big, ugly, red belt just for the change to rearrange his handsome face. Even if he tells Marty, he doesn’t think Marty would _do_ anything. He thinks Marty would look at him, and then give each bruise on his wrist a delicate kiss. Marty seems like the sort to offer comfort and understanding, rather than trying to fix the unfixable problem.

“How long does a shower take?” Naito peels the shower curtain back, his eyes scanning over Hiromu, clearly looking for evidence of Marty’s touch. He almost wants to present himself, to physically show Naito that there’s no marks on him barring the bruises forming on his wrist. Marty, unlike Naito, left no _physical_ marks on him.

“That depends.” Hiromu laughs, because that’s what he should do. He shouldn’t be musing on how much Marty’s beard would tickle his wrist. Naito’s scowling at him again, and Hiromu starts washing his hair. He’s very grateful for his shampoo-induced lack of vision. He can escape from Naito’s heavy gaze into his memories. Long ago, Naito’s gaze had still be heavy but his touches had been light. Long ago his wrist would ache for a _very_ different reason. He snorts in amusement at his own stupidity, and rinses the last of the shampoo from his hair. Naito’s behind him suddenly, pressed against his back. His hands are greedy, squeezing and grabbing his chest, groping down his stomach to take a hold of his cock. His mind summons up the feeling of Marty’s forehead pressed against the base of his neck, and his arms loosely around Hiromu’s waist. Long ago Naito would be as gentle as Marty, now he hisses as his balls are squeezed and stretched.

“Am I going to have to fight all night?” There’s a plea hidden in Naito’s tone. A confusing plea that might be for fighting and it might be against, Hiromu can’t easily tell.

“Fight what?” Hiromu asks, but he already knows the answer won’t be forthcoming. He asks because he should, but Naito is in charge and all information is dispensed at his whim.

“Turn around.” He complies, and Naito pulls him close, his nose at Hiromu’s neck once more, sniffing again. He presses a soft kiss to Hiromu’s throat, and scrapes his teeth over the spot. He almost wants to ask if he passes Naito’s test, but he can’t bring himself to antagonise Naito further. He lets Naito kiss at his neck, and trail his hands too firmly over his body. Rough treatment from Naito is something he’s gotten used to, something he’s come to expect. The rough touches soften, caresses almost, and _that_ throws him. Naito wraps his arms around him suddenly, one about his waist, the hand of the other in his hair. “Mine, Hiro. Remember. We agreed.” Naito sounds like a selfish child unwilling to share his toys with anyone else. They did agree though. Long ago Hiromu agreed that he was Naito’s _something_. The details were never hashed out, but he agreed. Naito’s nails scratch at his scalp, his arm tightens around Hiromu’s waist. The water gets cold before Naito let’s go, and shuts it off, leaving Hiromu wet and shivering whilst Naito finds another towel to give him.

Naito never usually wastes this much time when he takes Hiromu home, but once he’s dry enough that he’s not dripping, the normal routine resumes. He’s all but shoved into Naito’s empty room, nothing but a bed, a wardrobe, and a cabinet. It’s a bleak place, one Hiromu knows he tries to emulate in his own apartment, at least outside of his bedroom. His bedroom is _his_. Naito grabs his wrist, and pulls him into a biting kiss that steals Hiromu’s breath. Naito walks them to the bed, and shoves Hiromu down. A smirk spreads over Naito’s lips. He perched on the side of the bed, and trails his thumb over Hiromu’s bottom lip.

“...Hiro.” Naito’s staring at him, his eyes flickering over Hiromu’s face. He leans over, and kisses him. It’s almost a kiss of old, but it’s still too rough, too bruising. When he breaks it, Naito looks like he’s going to say something, but he changes his mind. He slides a hand into Hiromu’s hair, and pulls him up into a rougher kiss, that makes Hiromu moan and cling to him. This kiss is broken by Naito pulling his head back by his hair, and turning from Hiromu to the cabinet. It’s a relief to have everything back to normal. A rough kiss, Naito ignoring him in favour to getting the lube, a moment of hesitation where Naito decides what will happen next; will he prep Hiromu or will he have Hiromu do it himself. “Hiro?” Naito’s holding the lube, his face turned to the wall, but looking at Hiromu from the side of his eye.

“Hmm?” His mildest smile is on his lips. Naito looks hesitant, like he’s not certain what to do next. It throws him once more.  Naito always knows what to do next, it’s the one thing he can rely on him for. His course of actions is set and defined for him by Naito. “What is it?”

“Hurry up.” Naito’s eyes shift to something on the other side of the room, and he drops the lube near Hiromu hand. He takes the bottle up, and starts preparing himself. His eyes fall closed, his mind drifting to a more pleasant time. The first time Naito made love to him was in Mexico. He was off on his expedition, wrestling hard and falling in love with Mexico, but missing Japan so much it hurt. When Naito showed up he felt settled, everything he missed was there. Then one night Naito came to his room. He’d kissed him like he was a blushing bride, and asked to come in. He’d stepped aside, and Naito kissed him again. The night had been like the kisses they’d shared back home, slow and tender. Naito had told him how proud of him he was, how much he wanted Hiromu to come home and be in his Ingobernables, how much he cared for him. He’d felt valuable, even more he’d felt treasured. He was _finally_ something to others, and his worth to Naito had only increased. That had changed the moment he’d joined the Ingobernables de Japon. Naito hardened towards him. The soft, sweetness of their time in Mexico became a vague memory, the timid, tender care of when he was a young lion was all but forgotten. Naito was nothing but hard, rough, jagged apathy, and it hurt. It hurt so he threw himself into being The Ticking Timebomb, Takahashi Hiromu. If he could only exist in the ring, then nothing else would matter. “I said, hurry up.” Naito grabs him, and flips him over. He drags him up onto his hands and knees, then a pair of fingers are inside him, scissoring, stretching him open further. Naito leans over him, and presses a kiss to his shoulder, then with an unexpected slowness, slides inside Hiromu’s ass. Naito’s breath is warm and oddly shallow on his shoulders, like he’s panting, holding back from just fucking Hiromu. Once his cock is sheathed in Hiromu, he pauses. His forehead resting where Marty’s had. It’s either stupid, or self-destructive to keep letting thoughts of Marty creep into his head. He needs to focus on Naito more carefully.

“It’s okay.” He knows Naito hadn’t been waiting for an okay, but he gives one all the same. Naito pulls out, and with more care than usual, eases back in. For a few thrusts, Naito is carefully gentle, then he rears back suddenly, and his hands clamp onto Hiromu’s hips. Hard, fast, and normal. His head drops, and he lets the pleasure of Naito’s cock overwhelm him. It’s easy to lose himself in Naito, even when it’s all on the edge of being too much, it’s still Naito and it’s still _so good._ One of Naito’s hands scraps up his back, and tangle in his hair. Naito fucks him hard, but slow, and deep. It’s overwhelmingly good, his mind is pleasantly empty of everything, but the feeling of Naito fucking him. The hand in his hair tightens. For a moment he’s filled with the hope that Naito will pull his head back and kiss him. He misses Naito kissing him. _Properly_ kissing him. The long, slow, lazy kisses from when he was still a young lion. The kisses that left him buzzing with excitement, hoping for more, hoping for more passionate kisses that left his lips tingling and bruised. Now that those are the only kisses he gets, he wants those slow kisses back. Naito doesn’t pull his head back though. He does the opposite. He pushes Hiromu’s face against the pillows. He doesn’t gasp for air, doesn’t panic, doesn’t even really care. Naito will realise what he’s doing sooner or later, and until then he twists his head slightly to get just enough air. As much as this isn’t exactly what he wants, there is something good about this. Something that excites him about being half-suffocated whilst Naito pounds his ass.

“You’re not even going to react?” Naito’s pressed all along his back, his weight pinning him to the bed. “React for me.” He sneers, and Hiromu’s a little thrown off. This isn’t the pattern they’ve fallen into. He lies still, uncertain what he’s supposed to be doing. Naito makes a frustrated noise, and gets off of him, pulling out of his body. “Look at me.” His tone is flat, demanding but flat. Hiromu turns his head just enough to peer at him through his hair. Naito’s sitting beside him, scowling at the wall opposite the bed. He looks lost. He looks hurt. He looks like he _needs_. Hiromu touches his knee carefully. Naito jolts, and scowls at him instead of the wall. Hiromu doesn’t move his hand.

“Look at me.” He whispers, shifting to sit up, and gather himself to Naito’s lap. Naito’s arms settle around his waist, his face buried against Hiromu’s neck. “I’m right here.” He murmurs, and reaches behind himself, taking Naito’s dick in hand. He guides it back inside, and settles so it’s entirely sheathed in his body. Naito’s pressing kisses to his skin. Delicate kisses that he hates. He doesn’t want fake softness. He’ll take Naito’s frustrations, and though they hurt, it’s nothing to this. There’s always been so little that’s _fake_ between them. He doesn’t want to start now. “You don’t need to hold back.” He moves up, and eases down. Naito looks at him critically.

“You took him home, didn’t you?” He sounds oddly offended.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m here now, aren’t I?” That wasn’t what Naito wanted to hear, the wrong words or the wrong tone. Something wrong. He cups Hiromu’s face in his hands, and presses their foreheads together.

“You took him _home_ , Hiro.” The softest of Naito’s voices always makes the hairs on his arms stand on end. “Did he fuck you?”

“No.” He can’t see Naito’s face properly from his angle.

“Good, good.” Naito kisses him. A kiss like the past. Fingers in his hair, and hope in his heart.

“Don’t...don’t do this to me.” Naito looks at him, a sharp little down twist in his lips. He kisses Hiromu’s forehead, and pulls him closer, tucking his face against his neck. Hiromu waits. This moment is going to pass. Seconds can _feel_ like hours, but they’re always seconds.

“Don’t take him home again.” Naito’s voice reminds him of his father. It’s a horrid thought to have with Naito’s cock inside him, but the tone is his father telling him off. It’s the very voice his father would use when he screwed up. It’s the _Hiromu you are a fool_ voice, and it makes him feel miserably small, like a child hiding behind contrition, but planning his next caper. He’d been a defiant child in the silliest of ways. He’s not grown out of it. “Promise me, Hiro.” Naito’s hands frame his face, pushing his still damp hair back. He looks vulnerable. He looks like he _needs_ Hiromu to make this promise. He looks like he could be broken with a single word. “Don’t take Omega’s crow home again. Fuck him, but somewhere else, not at home.” Hiromu nods vaguely. “Say it.” If Birdie tells him anything like this when they talk next, Hiromu is going to break Omega’s nose, and blacken his pretty, pretty icy blue eyes. “Promise me, not at home.”

“I promise.” But Naito is Naito. Hiromu will always bend to Naito’s whims. Naito believed in him when he was nothing. He is something, because of Naito’s belief and time. It’s nothing to give Naito what is his, and the something Hiromu is _is_ Naito’s.

“Hmm, good.” Naito kisses the side of Hiromu’s head, and thrusts up into him firmly. Hiromu moves himself slowly up and down on Naito’s cock, but Naito ignores the precedent he sets. He falls into hard and fast as usually. It feels different, but that’s probably just Hiromu hoping. He wants it to be different. He wants it to be like it was. He wants to be important to Naito again. He wants to be _treated_ like he was important to Naito again. He’s not though, the rough, powerful thrusts into him confirm that he’s nothing, or at least very little. Naito’s breathing has quickened, his nails start digging into Hiromu’s skin, his end close. Naito holds him tighter, his arms clinging to Hiromu as he shudders through his orgasm. He can feel the pulses of Naito’s cum inside him, moaning softly at the feeling. His own orgasm hangs just out of his reach, and he wants it, he wants it _so_ badly _._ Naito glances at him, and grabs Hiromu’s wrist, guiding his hand to his cock.

“Cum for me.” His voice is gruff, and his eyes unblinkingly focused on him. Hiromu strokes himself, chasing his ending. He cums with his eyes closed, and his lip between his teeth, his mind pleasantly blank. When he’s finished, Naito rests his head against Hiromu’s shoulder, and for a moment it’s perfect. They’re still, silent, and joined. Then Naito shifts, and everything is back to normal. He pushes Hiromu up, and off. Naito uses the towel he’d slung about himself after the shower to wipe his cock, and settles down to sleep. Hiromu doesn’t hesitate anymore. The first time this happened, Hiromu had hesitated, waiting to see if Tetsuya would open his arms, and usher his precious Hiro to him, but Naito had fallen asleep. Eventually, Hiromu had twigged that what happened in Mexico would stay in Mexico. His days of soft and sweet were done, hard and bitter was all he would get now. It’s a lesson, at least that’s what Hiromu tells himself. A lesson designed to harden Hiromu into being better. Naito has always tried to teach him how to be better, and it’s comforting to imagine that’s what this is. It’s far more comforting to believe that Naito is holding back, rather than exposing the truth of his feelings for Hiromu.

He leaves Naito’s apartment, and starts walking, wanting the exercise despite the last few days. His body aches with a dull throbbing. Nothing stands out in particular, everything hurts. He shoves thoughts of his body away, and thinks instead about the way the neon lights look on the pavement. The city is swamped with light and sound constantly. He misses quiet and darkness. Truthfully, he misses simple. Everywhere dark and quiet has been simple. Everywhere bright and loud has been complicated. He keeps his feet moving, crossing roads at random, wandering past people who live in the night. Gaudily dressed women with hollow eyes, men who are the same, but are missing fingers as well, drunk salary men trying to avoid vomiting in public because their bosses would disapprove. He keeps his head down, and let’s his mind wander. So long as it meanders down paths far from Naito it’s okay, but Naito is Naito, and he is drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He muses on a life away from wrestling, or at least just away from Naito. A life where he’s a different person in Takahashi Hiromu’s skin; he’d not be himself without the critical eye and encouraging words of Naito Tetsuya. It’s almost impossible to picture himself being anything away from Naito, but for hours and kilometres he tries.

The sun rises. Birds get up at dawn.

_OK_

He doesn’t like lying to Marty so soon after becoming his friend, but he thinks Marty will know it’s a lie. Marty understands him, just as he understands Marty. They’re the same. Ships battered by the stormy ocean of someone bigger and better than they are. Marty’s reply doesn’t make mention of his lies, but it’s starkly honest. Maybe it’s to prove that Marty is better than him, or maybe it’s to show he believes Hiromu to be worth the truth. Marty’s worth giving a little truth to in return, but Hiromu would rather use his words.

_I want to talk to you_.

Marty gives him an opportunity, and Hiromu takes it. A few hours to talk will do him some good. It’ll be easier to deal with everything if he talks it over with someone else. He’s only got a few hours before Marty’s going to expect him, he should head home and at least shower. He finally looks up from the pavement, and realises he’s spectacularly lost.


End file.
